Cafe Romance (48 page)

By now, another hooded youth had entered the store. Without saying a word, he headed straight for the clerk. Almost instantaneously, both of the youths banished bright shiny revolvers and started barking out commands to both the store clerk and Kurt. After loosening the lid of his cup, he moved slowly over to the counter area as ordered, his hot elixir and bag of doughnuts in hand.

The one youth, who had been inside of the store upon Kurt’s arrival, had already jumped behind the counter and was pointing and poking his gun at the nervous clerk, ordering him to open the cash register or be killed.

“JT, check that motherfucker out to see if he has any cash or jewelry on his person,” the youth behind the counter barked, referring to Kurt.

“Yeah, okay,” the accomplice replied, moving towards Kurt.

“Finally,” Kurt murmured.

“What’d you just say?” the dumbfounded lad asked.

Looking beyond his young delinquent captor, he replied. “I see that the cops are finally pulling up.” It was a dangerous and clever ploy but one that he had hoped would give him a momentary advantage.

In a frantic state, both youths turned their attention to the front entrance of the store. Within that split moment, the store clerk punched the hell out of the youth standing beside him. A violent struggle ensued.

The one youth holding Kurt at gunpoint seemed hesitant about what to do next. He appeared both miffed and confused. Not wanting to wait for him to figure things out, Kurt tossed his hot Cappuccino at the youth’s face. This sent the youth into a screaming rage.

Before the thug could respond, Kurt quickly moved in with an aggressive gung-fu move along with a flurry of punches to the unsuspecting lad’s face and chest. At one point, the gun went off, sending a bullet into the tiled ceiling. It had been over a decade since he had last actively trained in the martial arts, but the reflexes still seemed to be there.

While the daze youth lay on the floor nursing his burned face and possibly broken nose, Kurt just as quickly disarmed him.

Turning, he saw that the clerk and the other delinquent were still going at it.

Raising his arm, Kurt took the gun he had just taken from his assailant, and pointed it at the head of the struggling youth behind the counter and cocked the weapon. The distraught and defeated-looking youth dropped his weapon.

The clerk took the youth’s gun and immediately pushed the panic button, which was designed to alert law enforcement of any encroachments. In the meantime, the other youth got up and dashed out of the store’s front entrance.

“Look, I’m going after him…try to keep this one at bay,” Kurt barked, then took off.

“Thanks for your help sir,” the store clerk said, but was unsure if the brave man had even heard him.

Across the dark street, Kurt watched the youth jump into a dark colored sports car. He continued to give chase. There appeared to be another youth at the wheel. It did not matter, he thought. He was only hoping to get the license plate number on the car.

As the supped up sports car sped away, he noticed a bright flash and a loud crackling sound, like a firecracker had just went off. Then there was silence and darkness around him.

A
n electric shock had scorched through her body when the police came with the news of the shooting. She had sensed something was up. Kurt had called her on his cell phone to let her know he was leaving the center and that was just a little after 5:00AM in the morning. It was closed to 8:00AM when she got the news of the attempted robbery and shooting.

  Juanita met her at the local hospital’s emergency room. The two lifelong friends prayed and wondered aloud what had gone wrong with this world. The violence was sickening. And to have this happen to a man who had done so much for the community and had been a positive role model for the youths in Tampa. It just did not make any sense, the two women concluded.

  The prognosis was good though. Kurt had suffered a superficial wound to the head by a bullet that grazed the size of his head outside of the store. He also was shot in the calf. His recovery in the hospital was quick. His rehabilitation would take a little longer. He was released from the hospital a week later.

Within days, all three suspects were behind bars and waiting to be processed through the criminal court system. Both Kurt and Yvette had been told the youths involved all had extensive criminal histories. Law enforcement had even recovered some of the stolen property from Kurt’s tutoring center at one of the youth’s home and in his car. The event left the couple more resolved and determined to reach out to the youths in the downtrodden areas of the city. In the meantime, he shunned all television appearances and most reporters wanting an interview with him. He needed to heal first. And Yvette saw to it that he did.

T
welve years later, Kurt entered the winter of his life. Though he remained active in the community he began to suffer from hypertension and was not always committed to taking his medication. His total disregard for his own health frustrated Yvette to no end.

“Honey, don’t you know how much you mean to me and the boys? Please take your medication,” she often pleaded with him.

Kurt’s brows would draw together in an agonized expression. “Honey, I’m just tired of taking that stuff and feeling all doped up most of the day. I know it’s meant to help me but believe me, this is no way for a man to live.”

“Honey, if you continue down the path you’re heading, you won’t have to worry about living,” Yvette would retort, the frustration and fear always evident in her expressive eyes.

Kurt squirmed in his recliner and thought about an appropriate response. “Listen, I have but a few regrets,” he’d murmured whenever she brought this subject up.

And she would complete the thought for him, as always, “Yes, I know, we have had the best and the worst life can throw at a couple but we still have each other and we still have love.”

“That’s right, baby,” he’d closed the thought out with.

“Hey, it’s your birthday,” she beamed. “Today you’ve turned sixty-two years old.”  His once dark hair was now a salt and pepper mix.

“Just another reason for me to thank you for taking good care of me,” he said, giving her an affectionate kiss on the lips.

“Believe me, you haven’t made it any easier for me these last few years, getting  grouchy at times like some half-crazed ole fart,” she chuckled.

“Who you are you calling old and grouchy?” he chided her playfully, hitting her buttocks lightly with his hand. “Come here and give me my birthday present.”

Yvette took a seat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck. His eyes radiated animal-lust. “I know what you want. I just don’t know if you can handle it,” she teased. “After all, I don’t want you having a stroke or heart attack on me.”

  With a big smile, he said, “Now Yvette, what better way is there for a man to check out?”

The two laughed then decided it was time to light up the candles of their desires.

That afternoon, with Yvette at his side, the two enjoyed a quiet lunch at
Café Le Soir,
where it all started for them, and then attended a gathering of family and friends in honor of his birthday. An evening riverboat ride followed, and a romantic ride along the bay in a horse driven carriage. Later that night, the two exhausted lovebirds returned home and retired to bed.

Yvette slept soundly next to her husband. He, however, passed a restless night, the candles of the huge birthday cake brightly illuminating the dark corners of what had begun as a bad dream.

Off to the side in the still of darkness he could faintly make out a shadowy presence. Suddenly he found himself in a cold and damp misty medieval looking chamber. There was silence but he sensed that he was not alone. It was an eerie silence. And it had a menacing quality about it.

Suddenly, he felt a sudden chill, and was paralyzed with fear, along with a foreboding of his own death. There was a hooded form lurking in the shadows. Was his faceless companion Death himself? 

  Stepping out from the darkness, into the amber glow of the candles on the birthday cake, the hooded being's face was illuminated, just enough, to reveal his dark hideous identity. It was Death!  Kurt woke up with a start, and sat up in bed. Though it was a cool night he was perspiring all over.

Glancing over at Yvette's sleeping form he breathed with a little more ease. Candles, birthday cakes! Dark chambers! Shadows, death! What could this dream have meant, he pondered. It was the second time in a week he had experienced this very same bone-chilling nightmare.

A month passed.

It began innocently enough as a typical autumn day. Kurt jogged his usual mile, lifted weights, exercised, then swam in his heated outdoor pool, all a part of his daily regiment, then he showered.

After lunch he set about washing his newly purchased motorhome
Moonbeam III
with a water hos
e
. And what a beauty this one was. It featured a Global Satellite Positioning system, accurate to within twenty feet, ceramic tiled kitchen and bathroom floors, a top-of-the-line Alpine audio/video system and a combination Jacuzzi/bathtub. In addition, there were solar panels on the roof that provided 40% of the energy for the appliances onboard.

He had just completed the rinse phase and was about to wrap things up when he suddenly felt weak and dizzy. With great effort, he was barely able to make it back inside of the house before collapsing within minutes of calling out to his wife. A worried Yvette rushed to the area and huddled protectively over her fallen guardian angel and comforted him, talking to him, stroking his forehead and the side of his face with her caring hands.

When he became unresponsive, she gulped hard, hot tears slipping down her flushed cheeks. Juanita, who was visiting, made the 911 call, then joined her best friend at her husband's side. Her eyes were wet with tears, too. Their vigil seemed an eternity. But help arrived eventually. An air-ambulance rushed him to the hospital where his life hung in the balance for several days.

He had suffered a massive stroke, the doctor told her. There was paralysis of the arms and legs with loss of reflexes in the extremities and fever. On the fourth day, with his lovely wife, and their two boys, at his bedside, Kurt grew pale and very weak. Hours into her sorrowful vigil, her mother and son Terence, and the Senator joined in the deathwatch.

At six twenty-two that evening, Kurt expired, having never regained consciousness.

Realizing that he was gone Yvette collapsed over his lifeless form and cried uncontrollably. The heavens seemed to cry, too for a swift and angry storm fell over the city less than twenty minutes later. It greatly accentuated her gloom and enormous sense of loss.

In the days following his passing there were the expected news bulletins on television and a profile on Kurt in the daily newspaper, and a tremendous outpouring of grief and condolences from the community, civic and private organizations, the local government, and numerous friends, many whom he had helped in some way, or another.

The funeral was fit for a king. Ten flower cars, six white limousines, the white hearse bearing the body, and nearly eighty cars formed a week later.

At a fairly moderate pace the long procession snaked through the city of Tampa, slowing down as the motorcade passed by the first
Almond Street Café
restaurant that ever opened.

Solemnly, they traveled on until the procession came upon their favorite restaurant
Café Le Soir
, where Kurt and Yvette’s love began and flourished.

At the cemetery, his polished bronze casket was finally lowered into the ground to rest for eternity, and in peace. Mounds of colorful flowers were piled only a few feet away. After the brief graveside services, a mournful Yvette was led away by an entourage of supportive family members and friends, dignitaries and the press following a few steps behind.

The ensuing months found Yvette feeling lonely and poignant. She had lost her husband, lover, confidante, business partner and best friend, but she was determined not to stop living life to the fullest. He would not want her to. Her memories of Kurt seemed to be the pillar of strength she needed. The two had lived a full and exciting life, a life most people only dreamed of living. They had triumphed, where others had failed. She had no regrets. She would always remember her kindhearted husband as a gallant and courageous man, and a visionary. He was definitely one of a kind. No one would ever be the guardian angel he had been to her.

A
s good friends always do, Yvette and Juanita, found time to get together in the autumn of their years. Usually they paired up after their hair saloon appointment, to have lunch or to take a stroll by the bay. Today was one of those lovely days they decided to do both.

After lunch, they found themselves a perfect vantage point by Tampa Bay to inhale the salty ocean air, and watch the ferry and cargo ships sail by. A formation of seagulls hovered anxiously above, in a circular pattern.

"You're mighty quiet," Yvette said to her friend and confidant, both looking down at the choppy waters.

"I don't know why Yvette, but I was just thinking how sad it was that Kurt passed away ten years to the day after his sister Trish died from that overdose."

Turning to face Juanita Yvette's eyes revealed a sadness to them. "Yeah, that was kind of eerie. Trish's death nearly killed him. He felt so responsible for her. Believe me, it took a lot, and then some, to get him to realize that he had done all that he could have possibly done for her. It’s sad when you think about what she could have done with her life."

"He had to know, all along, that there was a possibility she'd OD."

"Yes, I suspect, but he never gave up hope of Trish turning her life around."

"There's no denying your husband loved his sister."

"Probably more than she ever loved herself," Yvette added.

"I've always felt so sorry for her children, especially the twins," Juanita said, painfully.